


the rogue princess.

by AlwaysInSonder



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Also Gendrya; Another God-Tier Ship, Betrothed Plance, F/M, Historical Fantasy, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Secret Identities, plance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysInSonder/pseuds/AlwaysInSonder
Summary: “I don’t want your coins.” He was honest in saying that. There were other things he found more valuable. Trust, chiefly. “Who are you really?” he asked wearily. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d asked her that.“Katerina Holt,” she whispered after making sure no one else was about. “Daughter of the Verdant King.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Artemisarya](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Artemisarya).



> ...Why do I always publish at 4am?

The heavy door to the tavern swung open, bringing in the chill from the outside in a cold, sweeping wave. It slammed shut and the new entrant remained by the door, likely inspecting their surroundings. He heard the barmaid’s cheery welcome and a soft voice that murmured a reply that he could not hear.

Footsteps - and a second, accompanying scuffling sound that made him think of a dog - headed his way and Lance silently prayed that it was only the barmaid, checking if he had drunk himself to a stupor. He’d thrown his cloak over his head so no new entrants could spot him - and pick a fight with him, if they so wished - but all he really wanted was a nap. The steps were light and careful, almost as if they were wary of him and they stop right next to him as he heard a clearing of a throat.

“Are you with the Blades?”

The voice was soft - a _touch_ feminine - and if he had to guess, was one that belonged to an adolescent boy. He frowned and pulled off his cloak from his head, irritated to have his beauty sleep interrupted. It was the one night he didn’t have to drink surrounded by sweaty, dirty men who’ve not had access to clean water in weeks. He would have liked to celebrate that in solitude.

As soon as he lifted his head, his heart stilled.

The boy’s eyes were the first thing he saw; the distinct color of them glinting in the dim light of the tavern. They were like the amber crystals his sisters used to collect from cherry trees in the autumn - trees from the orchards of the Verdant Kingdom.

“Matthew?” he breathed, his eyes wide and his skin turning as pale as a ghost. No, it couldn’t possibly be him. He’d seen him die before his very eyes. But the resemblance was uncanny. Even his brown hair had the unique tinge of auburn in it, maybe a tinge stronger than Matt’s. The boy flinched at the mention of the name, but his gaze remained steadfast.

“I am not Matthew,” he croaked. The boy hastily cleared his throat, breaking eye contact from him to rummage through his haversack. Below him, the dog whimpered. “Whoever he is. My name is Gunderson. I’m seeking the Red Wolf.”

He was too transfixed in Matt’s likeness, that he almost missed his words. He frowned at the boy, giving him a once-over. Clearly, there was more than meets the eye. No one knew Keith’s alias but the Blades and their troops.

“You won’t find him here,” he said in a low tone, casting his gaze out to the tavern. His troops had retreated to their tents. There were only a few people left, none of whom appeared to be listening in on their conversation. “You won’t find him anywhere.” Lance’s gaze traveled down to the dog, frowning at the clean, groomed white fur it had.

The boy huffed and set a small leather pouch before him on the table. Lance opened it to find gold coins and shoved it aside.

“As I’ve said,” he growled, annoyed by the naivety of the boy and mildly insulted that he’d thought he needed to be bribed. “The Red Wolf cannot be sought,” he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You should pray he would never come near you. His presence could only mean your death.”

“I was _told_ to seek him,” the boy sighed in irritation. “I was given this,” he produced a blade from underneath his cloak. Lance picked a wrong time to take a sip of his tepid ale.

Gunderson watched him impatiently as he choked, gasping as Lance’s fingers curled around his collar and pulled him to his face. The dog growled by his feet, but Gunderson ordered it to still. “Who the fuck are you?” he hissed quietly, mindful of any wandering eyes behind them.

“I just told you-”

“No, what is your _real_ name?”

“Pidge. Pidge Gunderson.” He’d said the name without flinching nor breaking eye contact with him. Lance wasn’t fully convinced, but he released his hold. He couldn’t help but note that the clothes the boy wore were of fine quality. The tears and fraying almost seemed intentional and the only source of genuine wear and tear were on his gloves.

“That blade, where did you find it?”

“It was given to me.”

“By whom?” He was getting impatient now. Why in the world would a young man - almost an apparition of men he looked up to - possess a blade that looked eerily like the Blades’? Those amber eyes _especially_ haunted him and he wondered briefly if the Verdant King had any bastard sons.

“An informant,” his lips pressed to a thin line. “You needn’t know who they are.”

“Why did you come to me?”

“I was told to find a man with blue eyes and a Azurian crossbow,” he nodded to the weapon poorly hidden in Lance’s sack. “They told me you will lead me to him.”

It still unnerved him how much of Matthew the boy seemed to take after. The only difference was that he had an almost feminine roundness to his cheeks and pink lips that were far too inviting than they should be. His delicate features and aristocratic canine made him out to be a son of a nobleman. His eagerness to pay for information with what would have been a year’s wages only confirmed that.

“Why do you need him?”

“You ask an awful lot of questions.”

“And you ask a lot out of a stranger. For all I know, you could be one of the Galran spies.”

Gunderson went deathly quiet and his eyes darkened in a way that made Lance surprisingly nervous. For someone with such a frail frame and tiny stature, they held not an ounce of fear in their bones.

“Rest assured,” he began, with a menacing edge to his voice. “I have no ties to those scum.”

For once, Lance felt a bout of empathy. But all the same, he kept his guards up. He didn’t enjoy being harsh, it went against the core of his being. But in the world they lived in now, it was impossible to survive without a hard exterior. That included not having the time to grieve his massacred family. The boy too, he imagined, was a victim. The Galrans had come after the smaller, peaceful kingdoms and their benevolent nobles, knowing that they’d be met with minimal resistance.

Lance sighed heavily, hoping he wasn’t doing the troops a disservice. He glanced once more at the blade in the boy’s hands, noting the glowing moonstone at it’s hilt - such a rarity that even the most talented forgers could not emulate - and made a decision. He knew if Hunk had been there with them at that moment, it would have been made ages ago.

He slammed a few coins on the table and grabbed his gear. “Follow me quietly. And for the Goddess’ sake, stop brandishing that blade around. You’ll attract the wrong attention.”

* * *

 

It took Hunk and the troops perhaps a week to endear themselves to their newest member and it took Lance just as long to grow more suspicious of him. He’d agreed to take him to Keith - the so-called ‘Red Wolf’ and rumored bastard son of the vanquished King of the Southern Desert  - but only on the condition that he funded their journey there. Gunderson had agreed to it without hesitation.

He’d be a hypocrite in being suspicious of him, given that he and Hunk barely revealed their true identities to him. And he knew they had a rocky start, but didn’t think that the tension between them would last as long as it did.

Three full moons passed before Gunderson finally revealed his origins and even then, Lance had only learnt it from Hunk.

“He says he’s from the Verdant Kingdom,” Hunk grunted as he moved supplies to their cart. “From a family of merchants. The Galra took their stock, slaughtered his family and burnt their estate to the ground. He survived by sheer, dumb luck. He embarked on a trip to the Azurian Kingdom just an hour before the siege.”

Lance couldn’t help but shiver at the mention of his beloved home and wondered for a moment why he was headed there. They had a lot more in common than he’d thought. It made the distance between them all the more annoying. “Did he say why he was headed there?”

Hunk shrugged, wiping sweat off his brow and counting their stock. “Says he was an alchemist. He was headed to a conference.” Lance’s brows flew up. An _alchemist_? Most of them had been killed or enslaved by the Galra. Hunk glanced over to him with a pointed look. “I really wish you weren’t so suspicious of him.”

Lance sighed and toweled off the sweat from his bare chest with his tunic. Their food stocks had been running low, but their mystery stowaway had offered to purchase them more from the neighbouring village. Gunderson might have earned the respect of the troops - and even Hunk, who’d have easily befriended any soul so long as they smiled - but he had a ways before he’d earn his trust.

“Have any of you seen Rov-” the voice behind them paused and Lance turned to it. The boy’s cheeks flushed pink as his eyes traveled down Lance’s bare torso - not the first time, he had to note - and he quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat. He didn't know why, but he didn't mind the appreciative - albeit, ogling - glances. “Have you seen Rover? He’s been gone since morning.”

“Afraid not,” Hunk replied, sympathetic to a fault. “He couldn’t have gone far.”

Gunderson bit his lip and looked to the ground with worry. Something in Lance compelled to want to comfort the boy, but his booted feet remained still. There was a vulnerability to him that he couldn't help but gravitate to. If it weren't for his reluctance to trust him, Lance knew they would be fast friends. He made a mental note to seek out the mutt himself after dinner.   
  
" _Sir!_ " Their scout rushed up to him panting heavily. He rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath, looking over to Gunderson with wide eyes. "We found the dog by the caves we passed earlier. The Witch's Mark was on it."

Gunderson paled at the implication and sat heavily on a log. Hunk immediately went to his side to comfort him, smothering his small frame with his large one with a hug. Lance hesitated before him, wanting to go to his side, but there were greater things to worry about now. He turned to the scout and gave his orders.

"Round up the troops. We have to move South or they'll find us." 

* * *

Winter passed without impediment; the troops still going strong, strengthened by the steady supplies Gunderson provided and the promise of a revolution. They only traveled under moonlight, protected by the sacred lunar light in their passage.  As relieved Lance was to not have any untoward encounters that might have depleted the troops, he was not as relieved to find that the distance between himself and the one the others affectionately called Pidge, had not budged the slightest.

He’d offered him his cloak on the cold, wintry nights, only to be curtly declined. Hunk had teased him as though he was little boy harboring a sort of puppy love for him to which Lance had replied placidly that he believed in building rapport with all of his allies; anti-social as they came.

It was why he found himself in Gunderson’s tent one cold, Spring night, hoping to talk to the boy in private. Only to find an empty tent...and finding himself rummaging through his personal effects. 

Lance knew he was acting against every moral he’d been raised by. Were his sisters still about, they would have given him a good ear-twist if they had known what he had done, but his inquisitive nature had gotten the better of him. In his (weak) defense, the notebook was poorly disguised and left out in the open. The winds had opened it to a page showing scratchy handwriting and sigils that distinctly reminded him of the papers he’d seen on Matt’s books. He knew the Verdant Kingdom were renowned for their innovation and ambitious ventures into alchemy, but he did not think every citizen would have such profound knowledge of the alchemical arts. But what alarmed him most of all, was what appeared to be instructions for a resurrection. He'd dropped the book as though it burnt his hands, looking at it with horror in his eyes. Was this small fellow really considering sacrificing lives to bring back the dead? Worse still, was he planning on using his troops as sacrifice? 

His mind raced as he rushed out of the tent,his heart was pounding when he sought out Hunk, finding him preparing their dinner in the clearing by their tents.

“Where is Gunderson?”

“I think he went down by the river,” Hunk hoisted the bag of grain over his shoulder. “He specifically mentioned that he didn’t want to be interrupted.”

“Oh, did he now,” Lance grumbled sardonically. More secrets from the stowaway - he was not comfortable with that at all. All his efforts in trying to be friendly were moot at this point. He waited till Hunk was sufficiently distracted with preparing the fire and quietly side-stepped his way towards the forest.

The river was well-hidden; so much so, the thick Olkarion foliage disguised the sounds of the water. It was not till he reached a clearing did he see the reflection of the stars and moon on the calm water. He found himself gaping, gazing down at the polished stones that glinted clearly through the water; it was deceptively shallow. It reminded him of the streams by the mountains in his home - the clearest and purest water of all the Altean lands.

To his side, he heard a splash. He darted behind a tree and peeked out to see a head bob up to the surface. It was Gunderson, scrubbing his oddly-cropped hair by the river. He would have taken it as his cue to leave, but as the boy turned around to reach for his clothes, he found his jaw dropping.

His eyes were wide as he took in the body before him. It was dark, but the rising moon provided all the light he needed to see the silhouette. The slender waist; the light swell of round hips and the small, but very much present bosom. “You’re a woman,” he breathed in wonder, realizing too late he'd said it out loud.

He- _She_ , he figured now, turned in fright to his voice. Gunderson squeaked, falling backwards into the water. It took him a few seconds to snap out of his trance when he noticed that she was thrashing wildly. He was in the river in an instant, swimming towards her with ease and pulling her close. She clung onto him for dear life as he swam back to land.

She collapsed into a tired heap on the sand and Lance quickly draped her cloak over her form. His hands hovered over her instinctively, unsure if he should offer her his body warmth. Instead, he respectfully turned away from her to squeeze the water out of his clothes, hoping she wouldn’t think him a lecher.

“Do not tell anyone,” she murmured quietly, breaking the tense silence between them. “I’ll pay you as much as I can. I only need to find my brother.”

He was still in a stunned silence, feeling even more of a fool than he’d already seen himself as. The new bit of information didn't even perturb him. It explained her guarded behavior so much.

“I don’t want your coins.” He was honest in saying that. There were other things he found more valuable. Trust, chiefly. “Who are you really?” he asked wearily. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d asked her that.

“Katerina Holt,” she whispered after making sure no one else was about. “Daughter of the Verdant King.”

* * *

_“Father says you are to wed my sister in the Summer,” Matt’s elbow dug into his ribs and he pushed it away with a laugh. “Your philandering ways end now, Serrano. We are to join houses.”_

_Lance scoffed and drew his sword. It gleamed splendidly with the setting sun behind them. “I’m no philanderer. My heart was devoted to Princess Allura since I’ve set my eyes on her.”_

_“You know she is married, yes?” Matt raised an eyebrow. There was a stern look to him as he drew his sword in tandem. He didn’t look like he was joking now. “I won’t have my sister marry you if your heart is with someone else.”_

_“Lord Lotor will have my head if I even so much as glance her way,” he chuckled, dodging his sword and blocking an attack with ease. “Ease your mind. I will be the most charming and doting husband of all the lands.”_

_Matt rolled his eyes and lunged forward, pushing him to the ground with ease and he fell with a grunt. His opponent stood over him with a smirk. “I’d rather you were intelligent and quick-witted. If you are expecting a doting, giddy wife, you are going to be severely disappointed.”_

_There was a ghost of a smile on Matt’s face when he said it and Lance couldn’t help but be intrigued. He’d never met his sister, but he’d heard so much about her._

_“What’s her name?”_

_“You do not know the name of your future wife?” Matt huffed incredulously. “You’ve been betrothed to her since you were four!”_

_Lance flushed and sat up, brushing off the dirt from his tunic. All the talks of the importance of the political marriage his older brothers had tried to give him often went over his head. It was a rare time a four year old cared much for marriage after all. All he knew, was that the youngest of the Serranos and the youngest of the Holts were to marry. A union that will strengthen their military and trade standing in the Altean lands. “I’m sure she is beautiful,” he offered weakly. “I would hope she’s not as good a marksman as you are as well. I’d have nothing to impress her with otherwise.”_

_To his relief, Matt threw back his head and laughed heartily. He shook his head and helped him up. “Her name is Katerina,” he began. Lance couldn’t help but note how his voice softened with her name. “She’s a feisty one - takes after our mother in that regard. If you wish to impress my sister...well, I’d gather you would have to change all facets of your personality.”_

_Matt laughed at his expense again as he blanched. He really had no clue what he was getting himself to. As hopeless of a romantic he was, he would have thought wooing any young lady of noble standing was easy. They all loved jewels, sweets and soft mink throws. They wanted to be lavished with kisses, praise and admiration. He was willing and able to do all of that; any woman would be lucky to have him._

_“She sounds incredible,” he began earnestly. Katerina. It_ was _a beautiful name and he could only picture the face that it belonged to. “What does she look like?”_

_“As lovely as my mother was,” Matt’s eyes cast down and Lance shifted uncomfortably before him. He knew what it was like losing a mother.  “Brilliant as she was too. I’d say no soul in Altea could best her in alchemy.”_

_Lance’s brows flew up. An alchemist? He knew their father had dabbled it in it in his youth but didn’t think a lord’s daughter would even think to dirty her hands._

_“Well, unfortunately for her, she’ll have a stupid husband. But a loving one, nonetheless.”_

_Just as Lance felt himself relax, he felt a sharp point press squarely against his neck. It was Matt’s prized jade blade.  “Know that I’ll hang your head on our ancestral tree if you so much as harm a hair on her head or break her heart.”_

_Lance gulped and gave a meek nod. “I’ll worship the ground she walks.”_

_Satisfied with his answer, Matt relinquished his hold and he breathed easy. A firm hand rested on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze. He looked up again, wary of the man, only to find a kind smile that reached his amber eyes. He truly took after his father, the benevolent Verdant King._

_“As much as I adore my sister...I must say I look forward to gaining a brother.”_

_Lance's own smile was immediate. “As do I.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to [artemisarya](https://artemisarya.tumblr.com/tagged/my-stuff). I'm a huge fan of her beautiful Plance art and am so grateful for all the lovely depictions she'd made from my other stories. Go support her work!
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed this so far! ♥


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a drinking game: take a shot every time Pidge is referred to as ‘my lady’.
> 
> Also, many thanks to @RosieClark for the fantastic beta work! ♥

_Ten years prior_

 

_“Father? Father!”_

_A guard blocked her path and she look up_ _—_ _way up_ _—_ _to frown at him. “The King is occupied, my lady.” He gave her a nervous smile, likely fully aware that the young Princess was not at all appeased by that._

_Sure enough, Pidge kicked the poor man’s shin and he grunted in pain. She pushed past the other guard who’d had enough sore shins and knew better than to block the warpath of the young royal._

_“Father!”_

_The man in question, Samuel the Benevolent, House Holt and King of the Verdant Kingdom, dropped the book he had been reading in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t anticipated a siege from a furious nine-year-old. Pidge huffed impatiently as her doting father’s brows creased in worry. “Is something the matter, de_ _—_ _”_

_“Lady Nadia said that her brother said that their father’s friend’s cousin said that you have chosen a husband for me. That he lives all the way in the Azurian Kingdom and that you are going to send me away to be his wife.  How could you father?!” She cried. “I never want to get married! I want to stay here with you and Matt forever!”_

_She paused to regain her breath and she wasn’t entirely sure, but it seemed as though her father had retreated further back into the room. He looked at her with the same fear she’d seen on his face whenever her mother was angry._

_“My dear…” her father took a hesitant step forward_ _—_ _slowly, as though approaching a feral creature_ _—and looked at her warily_ _. “I understand why you are upset, but I assure you_ _—_ _”_

_“I don’t want to!” she cried, startling him further as she began to tear up.  She sobbed pitifully, crying great tears that would have made her brother roll his eyes. Only her father fell for her theatrics._

_He was by her side in an instant, collecting her in his arms and hugging her tightly. “Don’t cry, my love. Lance is a wonderful boy. When you’re older_ _—_ _”_

_“Is that his name?” she sniffled, pouting and mildly disappointed her father didn’t immediately yield to her demands. Oh, how she hated this ‘Lance’ already. “It’s a rather stupid one.”_

_“Katerina,” her father’s tone took on a mildly chiding edge. “Do not be unkind. Lance is a fine young fellow and I’m sure he’ll grow up to be an accomplished young man. He will treat you well, I will make sure of it.”  He sealed the promise with a kiss to her hair, but Pidge was still not satisfied._

_“I shall resolve to hate him,” she declared and received a tired sigh from her father in response.  “He’d find me too clever and tire of me.”_

_“Have you met the fellow?”_

_“No,” her nose wrinkled, as though the mere thought of meeting him disgusted her. “I never want to.”_

_“That is not wise, my love. Won’t you meet him just once?”_

_“No. Never.”_

_Her father sighed and rested his cheek on the top of her head. “It must be a scary thing, to be betrothed to a stranger.” He tutted sympathetically, surprising her._

_“Was mother betrothed to you?” she asked glumly, still clinging to her father’s tunic as he stroked her hair._

_“She was,” he smiled gently down at her. “I had the advantage of running into her at the Academy as a boy before we were. She was the brightest student in the class and we were partners in the alchemical labs.”_

_“You met her at the Academy?” It was the first time Pidge had heard that. She had always assumed that they’d been introduced to each other at a very young age. The Academy of Alchemical Arts took in students of all stations of life; princes studied alongside sons of commoners. Even princesses, with the daughters of common folk, a feat unique to the Verdant lands._

_“On my very first day,” he affirmed. “She wasn’t too pleased to be partnered with the shy, awkward Prince, as I recall. I was quite clumsy as a lad,” he chuckled at the memory and tenderly looked afar. “It took a few years, but as we grew together, she became my closest confidante. When your Uncle Thaddeus passed, only she understood how much I loathed the throne. She even suggested we run away from all the comforts of a castle and deep into the Olkarion woods so we may live our lives as common people.”_

_“...Why didn’t you?” she asked quietly, resting her head against her father’s shoulder. Running away together and away from the annoying restrictions of noble life sounded rather romantic to her and she imagined what life would be like as a ‘common’ girl._

_“Your brother was born,” he reached up to tame her wild, loose locks. “And just as we felt a duty to love and protect the tiny little being Matthew was, we felt compelled to love and  protect our home.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her over to the edge of the window, overlooking the vast, rolling hills of their home. “Your mother had the keen mind for politics. She handled peace negotiations, strategy and trade agreements all while balancing an infant on her hip. I, on the other hand, wasn’t entirely sure of what I was to do. All my life, I had thought your uncle was to become King. I was content being confined to the alchemical labs." He sighed, and for the first time in her young life, Pidge noticed the slight silver dusting in her father's hair._

_“Father?” she prodded him gently after a prolonged silence. He’d gone so quiet it worried her. It startled her to see the pain in her father’s eyes. It was not unlike Matt’s and hers, but his held nothing short of anguish. Pidge might be young, but she was old enough to recognize it. She wouldn’t have brought up her mother if she had known it would pain him._

_“I failed to protect her. But I will not fail to protect you. And one day, in the distant future when I can’t, Lance will.” He touched her cheek gently, smiling as she pulled another_ _—_ _albeit reluctant_ _—_ _pout at the mention of her intended.  “I hear he’s a promising young archer. A remarkable feat for an eleven year old boy.”_

_“I don’t see what’s so remarkable about flinging feathered sticks,” she grumbled, easing up as her father laughed heartily at her barb._

_“Matthew finds it impressive,” he offered, fully aware how her brother’s favor is easily her own. He set her down before reaching for his book. Pidge scanned the title and briefly pondered on the meaning of ‘_ _lapis philosophorum_ _’ as her father continued. "He adores him; treats him as the little brother he's always longed for." He chuckled as she pouted, leaning forward to kiss her brow. "If he approves of Lance, I'm certain it's only because he knows Lance will do good by you."_

_Pidge bit her lip and distractedly toyed with the edge of her bodice. She was still furious of having to discover that such an important aspect of her life had been decided for her, but couldn’t bring it in her to be furious with her father._

_"You're still young. There's many, many years yet before you marry - a good time to get to know him. Befriend him. In fact-” He herded her towards the opposite end of the sprawling room and to the window that overlooked the castle courtyard. "He's here to see you," he nudged her gently, pointing down to the small crowd of children who played. "I believe he's playing with his siblings and the other children there."_

_“Which one is he?” she squinted down. Among the group, she sighted her closest friends Nadia and Ina. The former picking up her skirts while running away gleefully from a blindfolded boy and the latter seated on a bench, content with calmly observing the chaos of screaming children._

_“The blindfolded one,” he patted her head, smiling as she squinted down at the boy. “Go on, introduce yourself.”_

 

* * *

Pidge woke with a start, accidentally knocking over the half-opened book on her chest. Before she could pick it up, another arm reached over her and grasped the spine, setting it on her lap carefully. She followed the arm up to meet tired, but impossibly blue eyes.

 _“Lapis philosophorum_ ,” he read the title, handing it back to her. “What is that?” 

“Philosopher’s Stone,” she mumbled, snatching it from his hand and tucking it securely underneath her tunic. She wasn’t sure why she bothered to hide it from him. He knew who she was, _what_ she was. There wasn’t a village in the Altean Lands that took in alchemists for they feared retaliation from the Galran Empire. It surprised her that Lance hadn’t already aimed a bow to her heart. Her mere presence meant danger to his troops. The Witch’s Mark on her beloved canine only solidified the fact. They knew she was at large and would stop at nothing to hunt her down. 

“It’s fascinating, alchemy,” he began conversationally after turning his head back to check on his troops. Most were out cold, sleeping soundly for once as the dark cave they’d found hid them perfectly. Lance busied his hands with building a small bonfire in the space between them, piling some twigs and dried leaves and striking two rocks till smoke arose from the heap. “My sister had a love for it, but she stopped.” 

It was an opening for her to ask him why, she was sure, but she was not in the mood to make conversation. Least of all, with _him_. It would be a new moon that night, making it a fortnight since the man had taken a good look at her nude form. For the life of her, she could not comprehend why his demeanor had changed. With the war, they weren’t engaged anymore. 

He’d stopped his snooping around her tent, for one, and she was glad he did. She knew he had done so out of his suspicion but it had proved extremely inconvenient if she wanted to loosen her bindings or change clothes. He began to send her out on quick solo ‘missions’ _—_ an opportunity to bathe unencumbered, she’d quickly come to realize and even ordered that her tent be set up right behind his and away from the eyes of the rest of the troop. He had even started to sneak his own share of food into her bowl; chunks of meat, extra portions of bread manifesting on her plate and even occasionally woke up to a small bowl of soup waiting by her tent that Hunk swore wasn’t his doing. 

At first, she had wondered if he recognized her. The night she met him at the tavern was nerve-wrecking in the manner he looked to know her. He’d mistaken her for her brother; she’d correctly identified him as her (former) husband-to-be. But as they embarked on their journey, it became increasingly apparent that he did not, in fact, had the slightest clue as to who she was. 

They had only met in person once, as children many years ago; but it was enough for her to commit to memory that his eyes were precisely the hue of tanzanites. It was not something she could easily forget and it frustrated her that she occasionally dreamt of them. She was still unsure if Shiro had fully intended for her to seek out her betrothed. 

 _Her first thought when she first set her eyes on him, was that his forehead was entirely too big for his face. He was definitely not gruesomely ugly as Nadia had painted_ _—_ _Pidge quite liked his eyes_ _—_ _but he seemed  too loud, too brash and too… annoying,  for her to even_ consider _befriending._

_The boy, now no longer blindfolded, laughed as another boy tripped on a pebble and fell to an unceremonious heap. But it did not take him long to rush to the boy’s side to help him up, going as far to dust off the sand from his knees._

_“Are you hurt, James?” He held his arm around the boy’s shoulders firmly as he gathered his footing. The boy_ _—_ _James_ _—_ _dusted his tunic off, his face redder than tomatoes._

 _“I’m fine,” he replied gruffly, embarrassed to have a small group of girls giggling at his expense. But the shame doesn’t last as James’s eyes found her, peeking in nervously from behind the legs of one of the guards. His eyes were wide, almost in disbelief. It was rare for her to meet the sons of her father's generals and advisors; she’d much rather spend all her time with her girls. She desperately hoped he would realize she was in hiding_ _—_ _spying on her intended, really_ _—_ _but to her dismay, he lifted a hand awkwardly in greeting. “M’lady!” he exclaimed._

_Pidge gasped and quickly ducked behind the guard again. He chuckled and quietly side-stepped, exposing her to the children who were now all staring at her. With the exception of Nadia, Ina and James, she surmised all the other children were Azurian from their clothes. She turned her attention back to Lance, feeling a weird squeeze in her chest as he smiled brightly at her. She knew she should return it, but her pride only allowed her to look away as she marched determinedly towards Ina._

_She could sense the boy’s hesitation, but he returned to the game, dragging a now blushing James back into the ring._

_For the entirety of the afternoon, Pidge sat seething next to her friend. They watch as Nadia triumphantly caught the boys with ease, lifting her blindfold over her in triumph while James sulked next to her, annoyed to have to surrender his wood sword to a lady._

_But her eyes kept flitting to_ him _. And he noticed._

_“Why do you keep staring at me?” Lance finally confronted her, blue eyes flashing with annoyance as he stood before her. He took full advantage of their slight difference in height, looking down at her with the same disdain that likely colored her face._

_Pidge felt her cheeks warm and fisted her hands, tilting her chin up towards him in defiance. The cheek of him to question a princess! The boiling hatred she harbored in the morning returned.  “Because you have a stupid face!” She sputtered. Behind her, she heard the soft gasp from Nadia and an amused snort from James._

_Before he could have the chance to reply, she gave him a firm kick to the shin, picked up her skirts and scrambled her way back into the castle._

As Pidge blinked out of her trance, it was to Lance’s face only an inch away from hers. She squeaked and slapped a hand over her mouth, glancing over to the snoozing soldiers only a few feet away. 

“Ah, she lives.” 

“What were you doing?!” she flushed, pressing herself against the slippery cave wall. Something slithered down her spine and she hastily scooted forward, desperately hoping  it was nothing but a dew drop.

“I could ask the same of you…” he glanced backward yet again and turned to her, lowering his voice with a wink. “ _M’lady_.” 

She considered whacking him over the head with her book, but decided the poor tome didn’t deserve the misuse. “I…I was distracted,” she stammered, knowing that was not going to satisfy. He might not be as suspicious of her anymore, but he was unusually curious.

“Evidently,” he snorted, settling back down but still remaining far too close to her. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to speak with you.” 

She gulped and hugged herself tightly. Lance parted his lips to speak, but noticing her posture, stood to remove his cloak and draped it around her shoulders. It was not the first time he had done something like this, but each time was no less infuriating. Infuriating, because her cold, stone heart melted with the lingering warmth his cloak always held and made her entertain thoughts of being in his arms instead. 

There was also the painful irony of her once-betrothed cloaking her as he would have done in their wedding ceremony. Were it not for the war, they would have been married for almost half a year now.

“Well, speak.” She pulled his cloak tighter around her form, nervous as to what he had to say. 

He bit his lip, his eyes cast towards the ground as he frowned in thought. He glanced up at her and she ignored the flutters in her heart as his eyes glinted with the dying bonfire between them.

“You...Do you know who I am?” 

Pidge blinked, unsure of what to say. “You...you’re Lance,” she said stiffly, feeling quite stupid.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yes, I am aware of my own name. But, did you know that…” He paused again and, to her surprise, blushed. “That we were to be... married?” She took in a sharp breath and remained silent, her eyes trained on anywhere but him. It was enough of a reply for him and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You knew who I was and yet you kept silent?!” 

Pidge pressed a hand over his lips as a snore erupted from behind them. They watched Hunk shift in his sleep, frowning for a bit before rolling over to his side and away from them. 

“I wasn’t entirely sure if it was you,” she frowned up at him, fully aware that she was lying through her teeth. 

“Oh, that’s not true and you know it,” he hissed, narrowing his eyes down at her. “What were you thinking?! What would you have done if some other man had found you bathing by the river?” 

“I would have run away,” she spat back, annoyed to have him speak to her so familiarly. It was not his duty to protect her and she really, _really_ hated how her heart raced in her chest with his proximity. “Or paid them as I tried with you.” 

A flash of anger crossed his eyes that started her. Was he really angry, at _her_? “I was told my future wife was bright, not brazenly stupid.” 

She gasped and shoved him back. At least, she attempted to. The man didn’t move an inch. “Do not speak as if you own me.” She was practically growling now and it was a wonder that Hunk hadn’t woken over their spat. “We are not married.” 

“Of course I don’t _own_ you. Even if we were married, I wouldn’t delude myself as such,” he scoffed, sitting back finally and looking every bit offended as she was. “I admit, I should not have called you stupid. I apologize. But I swear to the Goddess, I would have had to kill my own troops if they witnessed my wife-to-be exposing herself.” 

“Are you _that_ possessive?” 

Lance blinked. “I don’t think of myself as such, but surely you realize that royals have quite the hefty bounty? Your head would fetch a pretty penny. I'd quite prefer if my wife wasn't headless.” 

Her lips parted but she stopped herself. She hadn’t anticipated him apologizing, there was still fight left in her. Instead, her mouth hung awkwardly and she closed it, settling herself back against the wall and putting distance between them. The damned palpitations in her chest had returned and she did not want to pay _any_ attention to how his voice had turned endearingly soft. 

Silence hung heavily between them and Pidge dared not lift her head. She felt his gaze on the top of her head and knew that there were so many more things he wanted to tell her. She had many questions of her own, but her personal missions came first. She had no time to endear herself to someone who would have been her husband. 

“Do you not trust me?” he asked softly, leaning forward. She lifted her eyes briefly and as soon as she saw the earnestness in his eyes, she cursed her lack of discipline. “I swear, I only am the way I am because I’m concerned for your safety.” 

“I can take care of myself.” 

“Alchemy can only take you so far.” 

“Would you have made me quit then?” she frowned, turning to him with a withering glare. 

“Did you...did you think I would not let you be an alchemist? Is that why you’re so hostile?”

“That! That is precisely what I despise. _Let._ I abhor that. Why should you have to ‘let’ me do anything? I will do as I please and I will not require your permission for it.” 

It took Lance a few moments to understand what she meant and a small smile slowly made its way on his lips. “I'd be a madman if I thought I could control you in any way,” He threw another twig into the fire.  “Which, I would _not_ have wanted to, by the way. I wanted a wife; to befriend, cherish and...hopefully, love. Not a ninny to do my bidding.” His voice turned softer towards the end and it _really_ should not have such an influence in the manner her heart melts.

“Well, you have no need to,” she grumbled, pulling the hood of his cloak over her head so it covered her eyes. “You’re not my husband.” 

There was more silence on his end. She jumped as his knee appeared in her peripheral. She did not know how he managed to move so quietly, lifting her head to find him seated next to her. 

“But you are Matthew’s beloved sister,” he sighed, stretching out his long legs before him. “I made promises to him I intend to keep.” The mention of his brother sent a shocking pain in her chest, but she shoved away the sensation and stubbornly set her jaw. She did not want to think of her brother. Instead, she turned her attention to his legs. 

He’d certainly grown much since they were children. For one, he'd grown into the enormous forehead. Though he was still lanky as he was as a child, his shoulders had broadened considerably and with the few times she’d seen him shirtless, she knew lean muscle was hidden beneath his tunic. He was attractive, she hated to admit, but she would not allow herself to be so easily swayed.

Even as she had tried to distract herself, her conscience nagged at her to find out as much about Matt as she could from him _—_ even if it meant hearing things she did not want to acknowledge. 

“I miss him,” she whispered finally. A comforting hand landed on her shoulder. “What sort of promises did you make?” 

“He made me swear to never harm a hair on your head…” Lance continued. “Or break your heart. But I’m quite certain protection was within the implied duties to you.” 

“He _made_ you do that?”

“With his jade blade to my throat,” Lance nodded, turning to her with a sad smile. “He loved you immensely.” 

 _Loves_. She wanted to correct him. Her brother was not dead.

“Oh,” she replied, feeling herself shake. She pulled herself closer to the dying embers of the bonfire and cleared her throat. “Well, I shall write and tell my brother you’ve performed your duties well. I suppose he threatened to hang your head on our ancestral tree?” 

She forced herself to smile for once, but Lance did not return it. 

“You...you know of the siege in my homeland...yes?” 

Thousands slaughtered in the matter of minutes. The royal family massacred and the beautiful mountains pillaged for minerals for use in war. It was said the clear streams from the mountains still ran red to this day from the blood of the dead.

“Yes, and what of it?” 

“...Your brother...he _—_ ”

“He’s alive.” She interrupted him. “Matthew was trained by General Shirogane himself. He’s just in hiding.” 

There was a pain in Lance’s eyes that told her he knew she was lying to herself, but she did not care. All of this was for nothing if Matt was not alive. He _needed_ to be alive and to take on his rightful place as the new Verdant King. He would know what to do to end the war.

“Katerina…” Lance whispered gently, reaching forward to take her hand and invoking her real name in the worst possible time. “By my own heart, I swear _—_ ”

“He’s alive!” she shouted, tears spilling down her cheeks and startling a few soldiers awake. Lance gaped at her as she stood, glaring down at him. “You will see that you are wrong. Even if he isn’t, I will drag him back from the underworld with own bare hands!” She threw his cloak at him, storming out of the cave and ignoring the bewildered stares of the soldiers around her. 

 

* * *

 

“The nerve of him,” she grumbled and kicked a stray pebble angrily. Everyone around her seemed hell bent on making her think Matt was dead. The very notion was impossible. He was one of the most talented swordsmen of their kingdom. Not only that, he was a talented alchemist and had been the one to help her develop the cloaking incantation. She knew it had to be the reason he’d left their father’s book with her with the page earmarked. It was a clue for her, so she could seek him out; that could be the only explanation. 

But how dare Lance even _suggest_ that her brother was dead. It was not like he saw a body. Shiro certainly had not. Why should she believe either of them in a time where trust ran low and it was every man (and woman) for themselves? 

She wiped a stray tear and shivered as a breeze passed through the trees. It was oddly cold for a summer night and she suddenly regretted throwing Lance’s cloak back at him. 

 _Snap_.

Pidge gasped, pulled forcibly out of her thoughts and throwing her senses around her. In her need to flounce out dramatically, she had neglected to take the knife with her. Maybe Lance was right _—_ her impudence might be the death of her. 

“Well, well. What do we have here?” Something gripped at her neck, lifting her up with ease from behind. She opened her mouth to scream but a bony hand smothered it closed. 

Glowing, yellow and positively _inhuman_ eyes materialised before her and her muffled screams grew more desperate as they stepped closer to her. The other hand lifted and caressed her cheek. Sharp, white fingernails dragged down her skin as the illusive eyes narrowed. 

“Such pretty amber eyes,” the voice purred. It was feminine and though Pidge had never seen her in person, she just _knew_ who it was. Fear struck her hard as the nails dragged down to her throat. “Very much like the spawn of the Verdant scum, isn’t it Sendak?” 

“I think so too, Empress.” Another raspy voice from behind her, her captor’s, growled. She desperately attempted a kick but the woman (if she could even call her such) disappeared into the shadows of the trees with a loud cackle. 

“Bring her back to the stronghold. I’d love to make a necklace out of those eyes.” 

Her fingers grasped desperately at the claw on her neck, gripping on with desperation and struggling to gulp breaths of air. She winced as the arm brought her face-to-face with her captor, her gasp caught in her throat as she took in the sharp teeth and the same, pupil-less yellow eyes. 

 _Thwip_.

The menacing grin of her captor wavered, as did the strength of grip around her neck. Blood dripped from between his lips and his gaze went down to the arrow pierced through his heart. He growled again, pulling the arrow out with ease as though it were a toothpick.

She pried desperately at his fingers, ignoring the nicks to her fingertips as she cut herself on his claws but froze as a dark figure stepped up behind her captor. Then another. Then another. As soon as she recognised the figures, she attempted shaking her head to warn them. She did not want the troops to be discovered, not because of her. Her lips free now, she screamed as loud as her lungs allowed her.

“Run!” 

“Silence wench!” Sendak’s grip returned and she cough desperately. Her vision had spots of black and range of movement slowly deflated. 

“Let go of her!” Hunk roared, bursting into the clearing with his mace, flanked by two swordsmen. 

Another arrow sliced through the air and squarely into Sendak’s eye. He howled in pain, finally releasing her. Even with her vision still blurry, Pidge scrambled up and away from the beast. Hunk helped her up, ushering her back into the safety of the trees. Around her, she heard the clash of blades, groans of men and the nauseating wet squelch as metal sliced through skin.

“I want to fight,” she breathed, gripping Hunk’s tunic shakily. “My blade’s in the cave.” 

“You will do no such thing,” Hunk chided, pushing her back down into the foliage and shielding her with his body. “Lance will cut my own head off if I let you go.” 

An explosion went off and she gasped. Hunk pressed her further down into the soil as another went off.

“What was that?” she shouted through the noise, the ground rumbling beneath them. 

“Azurian explosives,” Hunk yelled back. Her ears still rang from the explosions and she’d only managed to read his lips. When Hunk pulled himself away for a split second, she made a mad dash towards the cave, dodging swinging blades and ducking under legs of men who fought ferociously. 

She stumbled over discarded blankets and ran deep into the cave till she found her rucksack. Finding what she was looking for, she ducked back into the fight. This time, she circled around the epicentre, easily finding Sendak again in the clearing. She crushed the orb in her hand and pressed it to the ground, her fingers quickly traced sigils and they glowed as the ground rumbled and split in two. 

Sendak’s good eye found hers, the other bleeding out gruesomely. He snarled and darted towards her, sword drawn and ready to swing down to lop her head off. An arrow sank into his wrist, disarming him immediately just as the ground beneath him parted and swallowed him whole. 

“Great work, m’lady!” 

She turned to the voice, finding Lance balancing on a tree branch with a wide grin on his face and his crossbow balanced on his shoulder. He jumped down and made for her _—_ only to be stopped by a blade to his side. 

Pidge heard herself scream but hands held her back and she found herself pressed to the ground once more. 

Another explosive went off, and her world turned dark.

 

* * *

 

When she came to, Pidge found herself staring at the ceiling of the cave. She blinked wearily, squinting up at the dark ridges. She could make out the tiny mushrooms that grew in the moist crevices of the caves as sunlight filtered into the cavern. Was it the morning already? 

The fight.

It came back to her. Sendak. The Witch. Hunk. Her betrothed.

She sat herself up far too quickly and winced as pain seared through her head. She glanced down to see her body covered in a tunic far too big for her stature. 

“Easy now, m’lady. Rest your head.” 

She frowned at the familiar voice, remembering that she’d been annoyed with him that night. But her frown disappeared as soon as she took in the sight before her. 

Soldiers laid out on the floor, tending to wounds and patching up fellow comrades. The air reeked heavily of blood, herbs and the cloying scent of infection. Her eyes finally rested on the man who’d given her nothing but grief since knowing of his existence, and she stilled.

An arm was bandaged and the other awkwardly pressed at a gaping wound to his side. Guilt ate at her as she took in the bruises littered up his arms. 

“Don’t look so distraught, I’ve handled worse,” Lance grinned at her, albeit weakly. 

“Playing the brave debonair, aren’t we now Lance? As I recall, you were screaming in pain earlier.” 

“Oh, shut up Hunk.” The man emerged from behind her much to her relief, with nothing more than a bandage around his head. 

“W-what happened?” Pidge whispered, her voice uncharacteristically meek. Though she had a general impression of what had transpired - a mishap by her own doing no less - she wasn’t sure of the particulars. 

“Sendak’s troops found us. Luckily, we only encountered the scouts. If we’d run into the warriors…” Hunk shivered, rubbing his arms. 

“Oh, we can take on those goons,” Lance scoffed, wincing as he had made the mistake of bending forward. 

Pidge’s brows creased in worry as a stream of blood trickled down his abdomen. “How did you-”

“Oh this? Just a minor stab wound. Nothing to worry about, m’lady.” 

“Minor? That beast had almost pulled his blade through you like a bird on a roast! If Kinkade hadn’t thought to use the explosive, the fight would have ended right there.” 

Lance glared at Hunk over the top of her head, not-so-discreetly indicating towards her. 

“She’s not a prissy lady, Lance. She can handle a little gruesome tale. Wouldn’t you like your future wife to marvel at your bravery?” 

Lance rolled his eyes and Pidge confusedly looked over to Hunk. “How did you....” 

“The both of you weren’t particularly quiet, last night.” 

Pidge blushed and turned her head away. Perhaps her brother had earmarked the cloaking spell for situations like these. But as she glanced over again across the cave, over to the soldiers who nursed their wounds, the guilt returned with fervor. This was all her fault. Her eyes flooded with fresh tears. 

None of this would have happened if _—_

“If you are blaming yourself, I strongly suggest you stop.” Lance sighed, leaning back. 

“But I _—_ ” 

“If it weren’t for your lady-like need to pout, I would not have gone after you and sighted the scouts. Because of you, we knew of their presence early instead of having a nasty awakening.” 

Hunk nodded sagely as he helped another soldier bandage up. 

Pidge sat mutely, unsure of what to say or do next. Her eyes kept going to his wound and she immediately pulled herself closer to him, pulling away the blood-soaked rag he used and tearing a piece of her tunic to press against it. 

“You truly are a stupid man,” she sniffled, brushing away tears as they came as she pressed against his wound. “I am glad we never married.” 

Lance chuckled weakly and winced from the pain. “I was only...fulfilling your brother’s wish.” He took in deep gulps of air, holding each to bear against the ache. 

“Stop talking you fool,” she desperately looked about her, wishing she had her satchel of herbs so she may heal him. “I’ve already relieved you of your duties. You are free of me now” 

Lance shook his head slowly, a hand lifting to rest gently over one of hers pressed to his chest. “No…” he breathed. “No I am not, my Queen.” 

 

* * *

 

_“My lady!”_

_Pidge ducked behind a tree, cursing her luck. Rover scuttled to burrow himself between her feet, whimpering softly. She’d hoped to have not been caught so quickly; she was already three-quarters into her journey North. Why on earth did the Council of Alchemists have to select the Azurian mountains of all places to hold the conference? Her home was far better suited. They had resources, knowledge, libraries - everything an alchemist could want and more._

_Beyond that, the Verdant Kingdom was the only place where “lady alchemists” - and she’d very much prefer being plainly referred to as an_ alchemist _-  were welcome to openly practice. Though she’d favored the practically of men’s trousers, she abhorred tucking her hair into a scraggly wig. It was far too cumbersome, itchy and the tight pins that kept all her long locks in place bit into her scalp when left on for extended periods of time._

_Her love for alchemy took her far enough here. Though her father was far more understanding than most, he was still overwhelmingly protective, especially since her mother’s death. She understood his worries - with the rising tensions between the Galran and Altean Empires - but she simply could not sit on her hands in the comfort of her tower. With her brother already at the Azurian Kingdom, she only had about a night of travel left before she was reunited with him. Her father wouldn’t be as worried if she was with Matt, she was sure._

_“Lady Holt! It is only me, General Shirogane.” She crouched low behind the tree, using it’s enormous trunk as a shield as she slowly dipped into her leather satchel.  Shiro dismounted from his steed, looking about him with worry. It was then, Pidge noted that he was not wearing his armor. His tunic was singed at the edges, soot smearing across his tunic and hands. “Katerina, please! You’re not safe on these lands!”_

_That, made her sit up with concern. For a man that was a stickler for decorum, Shiro had never called her by her first name despite the many times she insisted he did. She sighed, praying she wasn’t trading her freedom away and reluctantly stood to her full height. Shiro noticed her immediately._

_“Oh, thank the Goddess,” the relief on his face startled her. The usually composed man rushed over to her side, resting his hands on her shoulders and inspected her person. “You’re not hurt are you? Has anyone recognized you?”_

_“No, of course not,” Pidge took a step back, pushing his hands off of her gently. “Really, father has no need to be this protective. I’m perfectly capable of_ _—_ _”_

_“Your father’s missing.”_

_“_ _—_ _taking care...what?”_

_His solemn dark eyes looked steadily into hers and a hand rested on her shoulder as he bent to her height. He cast a glance backward, as though to check he wasn’t followed and even seeing no one,  leaned closer still to whisper. “We suspect that he’s been kidnapped and held for ransom. His personal guard were all found slain, save for Sir Iverson. The Galran army ambushed us in the middle of the night.”_

_Pidge balked and took several shaky steps back. An ambush in her beloved home? Her father missing? She had been aware that a peace negotiation with Lord Lotor had gone awry but had not that the repercussions would be so severe. “Is anyone hurt? How is Lady Nadia? Lady Ina?”_

_Shiro sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. The lone white patch smeared grey with the soot on his hands. “I have not had the time to assess the damage or the survivors.” Survivors? She’d sorely underestimated the severity of an ‘ambush’.  “My duty is to the crown - which is precisely why you cannot leave my sight. Your brother...I have not heard from his envoys yet, but the Azurian Kingdom is under siege. You must not go there.”_

_Rover whimpered yet again, sensing her anguish and nuzzled her knee. “W-where must we go then?” She forced herself to speak. She will not be a liability to Shiro, she refused to be. If he expected her to simply sit and cower in fear in some safe house, he was sorely mistaken._

_Shiro, on the other hand, was deep in thought. He reached into his hilt and pulled out a blade. Pidge flinched as the shine of the polished edge nearly blinded her. It was not like any other blade she’d seen in her life. The carvings on it’s handle were exquisite and dare she say, excessive. The most discerning detail - the carved moonstone. “I know someone who will help us. An ally of sorts.”_

_“Of sorts?” An eyebrow rose._

_Shiro gripped the blade and stared down at it contemplatively. He seemed to debate with himself; an expression that looked odd on him. Pidge had grown too accustomed to his steadfast nature. “I...I will admit that I’m not certain where their loyalties lie. Decidedly not Galran, my lady, I assure you. But...there is one thing I suppose I should make you aware of.”_

_“Well, tell me!”_

_“...They are Galran themselves. But they are detractors,” Shiro added quickly. “They hold no allegiance to Lord Zarkon nor the Witch of the West.”_

_For a moment - and it really was the briefest moment as she felt immense guilt for even considering the notion - she wondered if she could continue with her unwavering trust towards Shiro. Her mother had been the one to warn her that in a war, there was no side but one’s own._

_“These...detractors, have they signed the Altean Accords?”_

_“No, m’lady, but it is only beca_ _—_ _”_

_“Then they are no allies of ours, General.” Her tone towards Shiro surprised her, but it would be a while yet before she would trust any Galran. They took the life of her mother when she’d only been a child. She despised them with every fibre of her being._

_“My lady.” Shiro’s soft tone made her still. “I swore an oath to the King to protect you.”_

  _“As it is expected of any knight,” she scoffed. “You need not feel any obligation to watch over me. It is my brother you should worry after, he’s the heir.”_

_Shiro’s lips parted, but he seemed to reconsider the thought and sealed them immediately. It was only at the insistence of her frown (and her signature scathing glare that she’d been told was almost phantasmically like her mother’s) did he finally relent._

_“In... in the unfortunate circumstance that the Prince does not return to us safely,_ you _are the heir, my lady.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! How many of you saw this coming? Scream at me in the comments!
> 
> Also, massive shout-out to [artemisarya](https://artemisarya.tumblr.com/tagged/my-stuff) who drew breathtakingly gorgeous art for chapter 1 [here](https://artemisarya.tumblr.com/post/184677577196/whats-her-name-you-do-not-know-the-name-of). Not only that, you can see her influence in this chapter especially with "Because you have a stupid face!"
> 
> I still cry looking at, it's so beautiful T_T Go support her work!!


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